How Do I Make My Mom Feel Special This Mother's Day If I Can't Be With Her In Person?

Lisa Kogan is O's writer at large and advice columnist. You can read more of her wisdom here. Have a question for Lisa? Let us know in the comments below!

How can I let my mom—and the important women in my life—feel special this Mother’s Day if I can’t be with them?

Ann

Dear Ann,

If the reason you can’t be with your mom this year is connected to the state of the world we’re all wrestling with either physically, mentally, financially, or in ways I’ve yet to imagine, please cross not being able to spend the day with your mother off of any Things-to-Feel-Guilty-About list you may have running through your brain.

The science is in, and if we’ve learned nothing else, we now know for an absolute fact that scissors beats paper, rock beats scissors, and what’s going on right now beats just about everything. Let’s simply acknowledge that this is the first time in the history of Mother’s Day that moms should be delighted not to be taken out to brunch and give ourselves a much-deserved break.

That said, it’s imperative we support small businesses. Find a little restaurant near your mama’s place and ask them to deliver her eggs Benedict and a mimosa; or French toast and a bloody Mary; or blueberry pancakes and a bourbon; or waffles and a Scotch, hold the waffles. Whatever you’ve seen mom knock back whenever the whole family gets together for brunch.

Now, while you’re certainly free to Zoom— or group chat, or FaceTime, or Skype—the only thing sitting down for a chat over the computer says is: “It’s the thought that counts…and I didn’t have one.” Luckily, that’s where I come in. And my friend, I’m going to surprise you with three exceedingly simple words of advice that could not be less expensive or more meaningful: Send a card.

We live in a hurry-up world. We catch the sound byte, not the speech. We gulp down lunch at our desks. We don’t marvel at the sight of a rainbow—we Instagram it and move on. We Tweet, we text, we trivialize. It’s so easy to delete nuance and complexity, tenderness, and truth when you wander around with your head in the iCloud. But a card is another matter.

The thing about a card is that it’s tactile. Your mom can hold onto it; she can take it out on some rainy Saturday afternoon. She can be simultaneously moved and ridiculously critical of your handwriting all over again. Somebody you’ll never even meet can also take it out years from now and say, “Wow, I can’t believe my great-great-grandmother sent this to my great-great-great grandmother.”

The point is, there’s something beautiful about finding the right sentiment and image, putting words to feelings, pen to paper, stamp to envelope, and sending off a lovely little note that might just stand the test of time.

My mother has been ravaged by Parkinson’s disease, and she is leaving me a little bit more each day. The words I say rarely make much sense to her now—though the words of Johnny Mercer and Cole Porter and Billie Holiday still resonate. I wish that love was enough to save someone. I wish that I was the kind of person who could be satisfied by cherishing the good moments and keeping the memory of who she used to be alive and well in my head.

Still, I’ll send a card to my mom again this Mother’s Day, and I will thank her one last time for all the things she’s taught me over the years—if not in word, then in deed: Always try. Always care. Always believe in what you’re doing. Always respect yourself. Always know that you are loved. And always remember how happy you made me just by showing up to this big, stupid dance.

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